


forgiveness, can you imagine?

by advantagetexas



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Android!Wheatley, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advantagetexas/pseuds/advantagetexas
Summary: If you were given a second chance to make it up to the person you wronged most, would you take it? If your name is Wheatley, and you're a complete moron that doesn't really think anything through, then yes, yes you would.





	1. the world finds a way to bring us together

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda just stopped caring about curating my content, here's 32 hundred words of an old ass, overdone otp of mine, merry christamas

It wasn’t the pain that was the worst part of it. Not the searing sensation that was so utterly foreign as She transferred his core into the new form. It wasn’t the tests afterward, so absolutely repetitive, even for a moron like him. Lift your foot. Good. Lift your other foot. Good. Lift your arm. Good. No, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t even the memory of the year he’d spent in the expanse of space, with nothing but a babbling and utterly insufferable idiot for company. No, it was the image seared into his mind of his last moments in Her body, of seeing through his optic.

          She had reached out. She was reaching for him, her arm poised to grab him and bring him back in. The test subject girl had tried to save him. After all the terrible, monstrous things he’d done to her, after all the times he’d tried to trick her, and maim her, and _kill_ her, she’d tried to save him.

          He didn’t even know her name. He’d never bothered to check.

          And now here he was, on the surface, in a field of…what exactly was this stuff? Wheat? In a field of wheat, with a blue sky up above. Had she seen this same sky? The same fluffy white clouds? If she had, she definitely wouldn’t have tripped over the doorframe and fallen into the dirt like he just had. She was always graceful like that. Even in the most stressful situations, she seemed almost effortless.

          Now, where was he going? According to Her, he had “approximately seven and a half minutes to get out of my facility and out of my sight”. He didn’t know what was going to happen if he wasn’t out within that time, but he didn’t intend on sticking around long enough to find out. How about…north. North sounds like a good direction. Yes, he would head north from here. Now, which way was north?

\------------------

          Seven hours. Seven hours of walking before anything even resembling civilization had appeared on the horizon, and even then, one farmhouse did not a civilization make. The sun was setting now, throwing beautiful orange and gold beams over the solar panels on the roof of the place, and over the well out front. Obviously someone was living here, and keeping the place in quite good repair while they were at it. Perhaps they’d be willing to let him have a charge before he got on his way. She had said that the batteries in this new form would last quite a while, but he’d be bloody bonkers to trust anything She said after what they’d been through.

          As he strode confidently up to the front door, he adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, straightening it as best he could. Always a good idea to make a good first impression. He had no idea who was going to be around to make an impression on, but it mattered nonetheless.

          The porch of the house was well kempt, with a laundry line going from one end to the other. He had to duck under some knickers that were lightly flowing in the breeze to actually reach the door, and only just managed not to go tumbling ass over tea kettle. He knocked on the door twice, not loud enough to startle, but definitely enough to make his presence known. He also briefly considered calling out, but just as he opened his mouth to do so, the door swung open. It then, of course, quickly slammed shut right in his face before he could see who’d opened it, followed by the telltale sounds of someone trying to move furniture.

          “Oi, wait! I’m not going to hurt you!” he called out, and the sounds beyond the door stopped momentarily. In the glass window beside the door, he could see a shadowy form watching him, almost observing his movements. “I was just wondering if I could borrow some electricity from you. I’m, well, I’m on a mission to find somebody and I would really appreciate some help. Actually, maybe you’ve seen her, she’s about ye high,” he said, miming a height to the shape through the window. “Brunette, very tan, very beautiful.”

          The shape on the other side disappeared for a moment, before the sound of furniture moving again resumed.

          “I assume that’s a no, then, since you’ve not said anything. That’s fine, sorry to bother you, I’ll just…um, be on my way, then.” As he finished his sentence, the door swung open again. It was…it was…

          On the other side of the door was a small olive skinned woman, not small as in thin, but small as in petite. Her muscled arms were covered in scars and pockmarks, bulletholes, almost. Her brown hair framed her face as pieces of it spilled out of a familiar ponytail.

          “Oh…” he breathed into the rapidly chilled night air. “It’s…you’re…you’re _her_.”

          The woman smiled softly and nodded, and then pointed at him, and then to her temple.

          “You remember me? How? I should look completely different from the last time you saw me, or at least I assume I do, I haven’t seen myself quite yet-“ he began, before she cut him off by pointing to the pocket of his shirt, on which was pinned a badge that read “Wheatley”. Her shoulders moved silently as she then pointed to his throat and flapped her hand in the generally understood mime for speaking.

          “Oh, the voice! Right, suppose it does have a certain everlasting luster to it. An unforgettable lilt, if you will,” he said, mostly joking, and her shoulders raised and lowered again. His smile quickly faded however, when he realized just what was happening. “Oh god, if it’s you, then…”

          He fell to his knees in front of her, hands clasped together, and his head down, almost begging for benediction. For forgiveness from the guilt that had been plaguing his circuitry, that had been weighing heavily on his mind since he had last seen her.

          “I am so, so sorry. I cannot even begin to tell you how bloody sorry I am. For everything. For the testing, for all of it. I would blame Her and her terrible body, but I know that’s no excuse for the horrible things I did to you, and I’m just so-“ she cut him off again, kneeling down to his level and taking his face in her hands.

          She mouths “It wasn’t your fault” before looking down, seemingly angry that nothing has actually come out of her mouth.

          “I…I don’t even know your name,” Wheatley blurts out, as she looks back up, meeting his eye.

          “Chell,” she says, breathily and with clear difficulty, but it’s a sentence nonetheless. She smiles widely afterward, more proud of herself than anything.

          “Chell. That’s a beautiful name. Almost angelic, innit?”


	2. androids dream of electric chells

         The inside of the farmhouse was smaller than it appeared from the outside. It was quite comfortable, seeming, though. Homely, almost. Chell had definitely made the place her own, as he could tell from the paintings sprawled across the walls. One of the wheat field, and one of the farmhouse from a distance, and another, smaller one of the companion cube. She wasn’t the best painter, that was quite certain, but they were lovely paintings nonetheless. She led him through a hall to the living room, and pointed to one of the outlets, then mimed plugging something in.

          “Ah, right, thanks,” Wheatley said, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction before crouching in front of the wall and staring at the plug thoughtfully. “Now, how does this work…”

          He sat there for a good five minutes, pondering the question of how to actually charge his batteries. He could hear Chell moving about in the background, climbing stairs and such, but for the moment he was quite focused on figuring out this puzzle. Eventually, though, Chell reappeared in front of him, plugging a long, thick cable into the socket.

          “What’s that cable for, lo-“ he began, before being stopped by the sensation of her pushing his head down to his chest, and picking at the back of his neck, pulling something out of it. Then, he suddenly felt completely rejuvenated, in a matter of seconds, as she helped him stand back upright.

          She mimed the act of plugging something into the back of her own neck and then pointed to him.

          “Thanks a bunch, love, you’re a real life saver,” he replied, hoping the genuine admiration was clear in his voice. He really did admire her, honestly he did. Her smarts, her wits, well, just all of her, really.

          In reply she just smirked and shrugged, as if to say “it’s nothing”. Then she tried to actually speak again, but only managed to mouth something Wheatley couldn’t understand. She seemed frustrated, then held up a finger for him to wait there while she ran to the kitchen to grab something. He waited patiently while she rummaged around, before returning with a pen and a half-used pad of paper.

          _How did you get here?,_ she wrote, before turning the pad to show him. Her handwriting was almost typeface perfect, it was quite impressive.

          “Well, you see, She decided that being stuck in space was too kind of a punishment!” he said, trying to fake some enthusiasm. Chell’s face twisted, and she tilted her head to the side. “So, well, she found a way to download my consciousness into this,” he gestured down at his new body, “and sent me out of the facility. She’d said something like “being human is the worst possible punishment” or some nonsense like that. I don’t understand why She’d think that, I quite like this form. Not all that used to it though, bit clumsy on my feet still, but I’m working on it.” He looked up, seeing Chell examining his face closely.

          “Do you…do you not like it?” he asked, and she shook her head vehemently.

          _Have you looked into a mirror since you were changed?_ , she wrote.

          “Can’t say I have, not many mirrors around here,” he replied, and her face took on that strange, confused look again. She held up a finger, as if telling him to wait, and then set about drawing something on the pad. “Are you-“ he started, and she held up a finger again to stop him.

          She alternated staring at him and scribbling on the pad for a good ten minutes before turning it so that he could see. On the bottom of the page was a drawing of a man, with a coif of lightly shaded messy hair, and thick rimmed square glasses and light eyes. Beside the drawing, she’d drawn little arrows to his hair and his eyes, one said “blonde” and the other said “blue”.

          “It’s my eyes that are blue, right, love? If She left me with blue hair I’m going to be right upset.” That drew a silent laugh out of Chell, who flipped the page of the book over and wrote, _No, your hair is blonde, it’s your eyes that are blue, don’t worry._ She paused for a second, then flipped the pad around again and wrote, _You’re just like how I imagined you._

“Ah, I’m as pretty as you imagined, then?” Wheatley asked with a laugh. Chell’s shoulders shook silently again and she wrote, _You are quite pretty._

Chell yawned, putting a hand over her mouth to try to cover it, however unsuccessfully.

          “Oh, I’ve forgotten that humans need their sleep. Dreadfully sorry, dear, I’ll just be on my way,” Wheatley apologized, reaching for the cable in the back of his neck before Chell stopped him, pushing his hand back down.

          _Where are you going?_

“I was, uh, I’m not quite sure. Don’t want to bother you for too long, that’d be quite rude.”

          _There’s nothing out there,_ she wrote, giving him an uncertain look. _There’s nothing around for miles, believe me, I’ve checked. Why would you leave, anyway?_

“Well, I don’t want to force myself on you, is the thing. Not like, in _that_ way, but in a way like, I don’t want to force my company on you, I suppose,” Wheatley stuttered, trying to bluff his way past the fact that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay, it was that he still felt guilty. So dreadfully, dreadfully guilty.

          _Stay. It’s lonely here, I could use the company._ Chell tilted her head, as if waiting for an answer.

          “No, I…I can’t. Me staying here would be like _Her_ staying with you, and I could never put you through that, no way.”

          _You’re not her. You had an addiction, you don’t have that addiction anymore._ Chell waited, standing patiently while he tried to come up with a solid reply to that statement. There was really no reply that would prove his point, though. It’s true that he had been addicted. From the moment power was turned over to him, he was hooked, and the second it was taken away he was immediately remorseful beyond all belief.

          _I know what it’s like,_ Chell wrote, her face an indifferent mask, _That’s why I forgive you._

Wheatley looked down at her, and she smiled softly, reaching up to wipe something off his cheek. Was that water? Why was water coming out of his eyes? Was that normal?

          “Don’t…cry,” Chell managed to say, her voice cracking with the effort. “’s okay.”

          “Is that what this is? Crying. Huh. Interesting word,” Wheatley said, trying to stifle a hiccup. “Not sure I like crying. Doesn’t seem like a very fun activity. Does this happen to humans much?”

          Chell shook her head apologetically, before reaching forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. She was so small, especially this close. She barely reached his ribs, where her head was currently resting. He relaxed, just a little, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and smoothing her hair with his free hand. She was rubbing circles into the small of his back, almost absentmindedly, and he struggled to not shiver under her touch. New sensations and all that, it was quite the experience.

          After a few moments, Chell pulled away, giving his arms a squeeze for good measure before pointing upstairs and miming sleep. Wheatley, for once completely speechless, could only nod, as she walked away and up the stairs, presumably to her bedroom. He slumped down against the wall, careful not to dislodge his cable, and ran a hand through his hair.

          Androids don’t sleep, not in the traditional sense, anyway, but he did seem to be able to put himself in power saving mode, which was about as close as he could get.


	3. nightterrors

         The next few days were…strange, to say the least. Wheatley attempted to help with household chores, and then was abysmally terrible at those same chores. Chell continued her normal routine, the only change being that she now carried a pen and a notepad for when she needed to communicate. She’d gotten her throat to be able to say more things, too. Wheatley, house, yes, no. Simple words. When work was don’t for the day she’d take a book off her shelf and sit on the couch and read, and Wheatley would try to “stealthily” read it over her shoulder.

          The nights were stranger, though. When it got dark, Wheatley would plug himself into the wall to charge, and Chell would go upstairs to sleep. The past few nights though, Wheatley had been drawn out of powersaving mode by the sound of sobs coming from upstairs. Hideous, wretched sobs. It was obvious who they were coming from, which only made things worse.

          Tonight, Wheatley had thought to himself, tonight it would be different. He would do something, anything, to help.

          It had been dark for a while when he heard it start again. First with a few light breaths, and then a muffled cry. He crept up the stairs, one at a time, trying not to get them to creak. It was an old house, afterall, it was bound to creak. He’d made it halfway up the stairs before an especially badly placed step caused the largest noise he’d ever heard in his life to ring out across the darkened farmhouse. He winced, as he heard the crying go silent in the room just up the hall.

          “Chell, it’s me,” he called out in to the dark with a sigh. “Are you okay?” He continued up the stairs, at a normal pace this time, til he was just outside her closed bedroom door. “Chell?”

          “Go away,” came the reply, more croaky than usual through the door.

          “Chell, please. Just let me help you,” Wheatley said, trying to get his voice to carry through the door without being too loud.

          “I’m…fine,” came the reply. Wheatley sighed to himself, and leaned against the door. Said door then immediately swung open, causing him to fall face first onto the cold wooden floor of Chell’s room.

          “This was absolutely not my intention!” he exclaimed, scrambling to stand up, and untangle his gangly limbs from each other. When he finally managed to get to his knees, Chell was standing in front of him, looking down at him with a strange expression on her face. She reached a hand down, and he took it, letting her pull him up. She didn’t let go of his hand, though, instead she walked back over to her bed, drawing him along with her, and only dropping his hand to slide back under her covers. She left them open, with an empty space beside her, and looked up at him imploringly.

          “You want me to…oh.” Chell just looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow quirked upward, as he slid down into place, sitting up awkwardly and smoothing the blankets over his legs. He folded his hands in his lap and sat there awkwardly until he felt the bed start to shake slightly. He looked over to see Chell’s shoulders shaking like mad, a thin laugh coming from her throat.

          “I’m glad you’re finding this…funny? I think that’s laughter, at least,” Wheatley said softly, crossing his arms over his chest in slight embarrassment. Chell put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down so that his head was resting on the pillow, and then curled up against his side, letting out a quiet purr.

          “Warm,” she half-whispered, laying her head on his chest. If he had a proper human heart it would be beating out of his chest by now.

          “Do you…do you feel better? Like this, I mean.”

          Chell nodded, wrapping an arm around his middle, her fingers curling under his side. Wheatley moved an arm tentatively, and she lifted her head for him to lay it down. She stayed like that for quite a while, and just when Wheatley thought she was fully asleep, she jolted upright, fear plastered across her face for a moment before she seemed to realize where she was.

          “You’re safe, love, don’t worry,” he placated, hugging her tightly and resting his head on her shoulder. Her back was warm against his chest, even through her shirt. He worried that she might be running a fever or something.

          “I’m sorry,” Chell whispered, her voice straining. “I’m sorry.”

          “It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

          After a moment of silence, Chell finally cleared her throat quietly, putting a hand on top of his on her stomach.

          “I’m glad…you’re here,” she said, struggling to enunciate the words properly.

          “I…I’m just glad I found you,” Wheatley whispers into her neck, her hair tickling his face. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”


End file.
